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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520058">the only person in the world who'd understand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortysevengecs/pseuds/fortysevengecs'>fortysevengecs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:15:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26520058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortysevengecs/pseuds/fortysevengecs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Carraway is an idiot and then is very sad</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the only person in the world who'd understand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from touch-tone telephone by lemon demon because i can't not think about that song // not really an au, as im a full believer that Nick and Gatsby were written to be in love, just more of what i imagine Nick felt ,,, pain</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nick had never been the brightest man. Graduated from Yale, sure, but average in his class. Lived on the wealthiest island reasonably imaginable, but in the groundskeeper’s cottage next to all those old money mansions. But God, setting his eyes upon this beautiful man for the first time, the one he had heard so much about from Daisy, whom he had admired long before his unexpected invitation to tonight’s party…</p>
<p><em>Hmm</em>, he thought. <em>What is he doing?</em> For a second he almost believed the man could read minds, the way Gatsby looked at him. He took in that inexplicable gaze for a second longer, then, snapping out of it, exchanged a few formalities and returned to Jordan’s side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were sitting in the tiniest of hotel rooms, him and Daisy and Jordan and Tom, and he wanted nothing more than to jump out of the lovely gilded window. He was stuck, and not because of the uncomfortable closeness of Daisy and Jordan on his either side. He didn’t have room to think anymore, having been somehow roped into joining them as a speck on the wallpaper. So he looked. And he listened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t until he himself was made to host Daisy’s and Jay’s (first-name basis now, quite the improvement) reunion that he realized what it was. The nagging feeling that hadn’t left him since his first ever Gatsby Party, patent pending. He was <em>jealous</em> of the man, yes, that was it (God, how could he have been so <em>stupid</em>)!</p>
<p>So he let in the florists and the caterers and the designers, and let them do as they pleased, and sat, dissatisfied, on the porch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What was he doing? Setting up his two friends like a group of schoolchildren. He’d thought the heavy silence they’d endured for a solid hour was bad, but them actually getting along? Much, much worse. They’d moved to Jay’s mansion hours ago, and after giving them a tour of the place, their illustrious host draped himself over a settee, looking as he spoke to Daisy as though he would crumble under the weight of his love. It was disgusting.</p>
<p>But why it was disgusting, Nick didn’t understand. And more, he wanted to understand, even though he would usually be content with simply observing, which only confused him more. He wasn’t like this when Tom and Daisy were together, though theirs wasn’t exactly a perfect marriage. He didn’t feel this way around Jordan, even at the height of their frivolous little… thing. In fact, he couldn’t recall feeling anything of the sort before so why now? And Daisy looked perfectly happy? Shouldn’t he be happy for her? They had worked so hard to put this together, what with the flowers and the meetings through him and the parties right there, across the bay, right where she could see, and Jay had set it all up with him, for her, and shouldn’t it feel<em> good? You got what you wanted, right, Nick? And you won’t have to worry, you don’t have to work like this with him again, you -- </em></p>
<p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Yes, love?” from Daisy.</p>
<p>Nick jumped, not realizing he had said anything out loud. “Hm? Oh, it’s nothing. It’s -- yes, nothing at all, sorry.”</p>
<p>“Whatever you say, old sport.” And they resumed their passionate discussion on proper suiting fabrics, something that Nick was pretty sure -- no, he knew -- Jay cared absolutely nothing about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Daisy had run over a woman. She ran her right over in Gatsby’s shiny little sports car and neither of them had noticed, and neither of them had looked back. Tom, of course, was furious, as the woman was a certain kind of friend to him. Her poor husband was even more angry, blaming it all on Gatsby, because who would suspect lovely little Daisy Buchanan of anything as violent as that. And Gatsby meant to protect her. He had told Nick so himself, he knew it would all be blamed upon him, he didn’t mind as long as she wasn’t hurt. Nick had no idea what to make of it, he couldn’t talk that damned man out of anything, no matter how much he wanted to beg him<em> No, just let it go, she’s not worth it, she knew what she was doing, don’t protect her, it’s dangerous, just stay here, just stay </em>for me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> -</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew it had happened. He heard the gunshot from his home, and he knew exactly who it was from. It wasn’t a surprise to find that insufferable man floating face down in the pool as though he was a drowned moth. He didn’t bother running after the figure that had already half-disappeared into the fog.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was the only one at the funeral. He arrived, alone, and left. Alone.</p>
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